


Infinite

by liketonybutwithanE



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Human, Anatomist!Aziraphale, Anatomy, Body Worship, Danseur!Crowley, Exotic dancer!Crowley, I don't really know how this happened, I'm so sorry guys, Inspired by GIFs, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketonybutwithanE/pseuds/liketonybutwithanE
Summary: "Are you sure, love? I only speak the truth. Is it so difficult to hear your praises sung so blatantly? As they should be morning, noon, and night?"





	Infinite

Aziraphale glanced up at the exquisite creature basking in the weak lamp light that flooded in through the half-open curtains. The world was quiet and dark and still; they’d only been home for about an hour. He was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed holding a battered foot in his right hand and loosely encircling the ankle with his left. He felt his lips curl sweetly as he pressed a soft kiss to the toes. 

Crowley drowsily blinked down at him from the mound of pillows. "Why do you do that?"

"Hm? Oh, this?" Aziraphale pressed another kiss to Crowley's toes, then another to his instep, then yet another to the dip of his ankle. "I can stop if you'd rather."  


"I- you don't have to. I - it's just... no one's ever been that interested in my f-fucked up dancer feet."

Aziraphale grunted, tightening his grip gently on Crowley's ankle, "There's no need to be rude, dearest. There is nothing, nothing about you that is fucked up." He pressed forward to slide his hand firmly, gently, deeply from bottom of Crowley's foot, over the heel and dig his fingers to massage the ever-tense muscles. "I happen to think that there is everything stupendous, marvelous, extraordinary, prodigious, wondrous, phenomenal about you." Aziraphale lifted his gaze to see Crowley had turned his face to press into the pillow to his left, his chest stuttering as he inhaled and exhaled raggedly. "You're beyond imagining, my dearest heart. You're strong and unyielding when it comes to your goals and your ideals. Your character, your conviction, your willingness to go beyond yourself for the benefit of others. You. Are. Infinite."

Crowley whined high in his throat from the pillows. "Ngk... stop..." he whispered breathlessly. He twisted his arms to grasp the abandoned pillow to his right and wring his hands in the pillowcase. He felt the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose flush and burn with uncomfortable warmth, was sure it was crawling lazily down his chest. The fabric of his shirt could be a blessing in some regards, he supposed. 

Aziraphale slid higher up the bed and drew his thumbs down the sides of Crowley's leg. "Are you sure, love? I only speak the truth. Is it so difficult to hear your praises sung so blatantly? As they should be morning, noon, and night?

"I can speak of other things if you'd prefer. I could talk about your body. This muscle here," Aziraphale pressed the thumb resting at the back of Crowley's lower leg into the meat of the largest muscle there meaningfully, "this is the gastrocnemius, this muscle carries your weight when you dance so beautifully. Below it lies its companions the soleus, the flexor digitorum longus, the flexor hallucius longus and the tibialis posterior." Aziraphale pressed a series of close-lipped kisses to Crowley's shin. "Dearest, go up on your toes. As if you were dancing."

The reaction of immediate; like Crowley had no other objective than to complete this small task for Aziraphale simply because he asked him to. Crowley's leg stilled and stiffened as he straightened his ankle and toes to form a single line. Where Aziraphale wasn't touching him, he could feel the phantom sensation of his pointe shoes. The wool padding in the box, the gel of his toe cushions. He gasped.

Only to inhale deeply when he felt Aziraphale ghost his fingers down from his knee to his ankle. "I've never told you, but I remember the first time I saw you. The club. It was dark and the multi-colored lights that hurt my head and that white button down you wore. Your hair up in pins. Do you remember?"  


Crowely did. He'd lost the custom-made basque to the grasping hands of onlookers in his haste to get off stage to investigate the shouting. "Lost my top in the crowd," he rasped into the fabric. "Was one of my favorites."

"I'm sorry to hear that. We will, of course, get you new, dear," Aziraphale tutted. He moved to sweep a hand along the inseam of Crowley's leg. "Though I don't quite remember the top portion of your lingerie, I distinctly remember the rest. What was that particular bottom called again?" Aziraphale's voice was entirely incongruous with the fact that his hand was pressing deeply, deliciously at the muscles of Crowley's inner thigh.

"Tanga!" Crowley keened, his right shoulder leaving the bed as he pressed his face deeper still into the pillow, suffocation be damned.

"Ah, a tanga; a handkerchief that had grander designs on life, more like. I didn't get a good look at it or you, mind. I was doubly occupied with a floundering fool on the ground and attempting to look anywhere but at you. In all your furious glory, you shone like the sun and I was wholly unprepared."

Crowley had abandoned the pillow he'd been clutching, pushing it down his torso to cover his stomach and hips. The cool fabric of the pillow caught on the material of his shorts and he squirmed. He brought both arms up to press his face deep into the cover of his forearms and fist at his hair. In his mind’s eye, he could see Aziraphale bent over his legs. This wasn’t anything new; Aziraphale was a student of anatomy. He rejoiced in being able to trace and catalog the muscles in Crowley’s legs, arms, torso. But this was different.

"You pushed me in the wall in your haste to save your friend. I thought I might bruise, didn't think until later that I wouldn't mind being bruised by you. I remember your shoes; the only part of you I could look at through the heat of my scarlet face. You didn't even spare me a second glance after." Crowley could hear the fond smile on Aziraphale's face.

He remembered, too. He had charged into the back dressing room ready to do battle in little more than a thong and three inch heels, but instead he'd found a prince among men dressed in khaki and tartan who wouldn't look him in the face, something that he rarely experienced. "I did look at you," he breathed through the gap in his forearms. "I always look when you can't see."

There was a wide, pregnant pause. "Oh, dearest."

Crowley squirmed again, but kept his pointe pose. He drew his free leg up to rest the arch of his foot on Aziraphale's knee and let his leg fall to the side. He wanted Aziraphale to _stop_ talking. He wanted him to _never_ stop. He wanted him to stop saying things that he _wasn't_. He wanted to listen to the soft words and declarations of adoration for all the tomorrows herein after.

Aziraphale, devout and empathetic and kind Aziraphale, must have read his mind because he continued, "I remember a beautiful figure in nude high heels. I have often thought high heels a waste of footwear but on you, my dear, they do exactly what they were meant to. Were you aware that a glimpse is all that's really needed when fueling lurid daydreams? The curve of your spine had me in throes for ages." Aziraphale edged forward further, positioning himself to brace on one hand over the lower portion of Crowley's legs. His free hand never let ceased in its languorous massage of Crowley's thigh.

“And I had seen you on stage earlier when you’d sauntered from stage left in only that white button down and your glorious hair pinned atop your head and those impractical shoes and your long bare legs. I saw you move across the stage, the lights soft and wavering until the first note of the song. And then the way you _moved_…” Aziraphale trailed off on a rough sigh, hanging his head with a curling smile. His voice was a tinny thread as he laughed, bent over double, one hand splayed wide on the bed sheet and the other holding firm to Crowley’s outstretched leg, still in pointe position. He dipped down to place a kiss to the patch of skin above his thumb.

"What I have in my hand now are a combination of the gracilus, semimembranous, semitendinous, sartorious, and vastus medialis muscles.” His lips brushed Crowley’s skin with each word, “Because you are a danseur, the work you put your body through is different than what I do when I dance. Different from the rugby players down the lane and different from the triathalon star in London. You see, you are exquisite. Exquisite because there are none else like you." He smoothed his hand from hip to ankle. "You can come down now, love."

Crowley let his leg relax. He could feel everything from his solar plexus down to his knees, where Aziraphale rubbed deep circles, was tight and writhing. The bed shifted as Aziraphale straightened and Crowley drew his free leg up to fold the foot under his knee. He shivered though the room wasn't cold. He panted though all he'd really done was lie there on the bed.

"Aziraphale..." he rasped, his voice rough and patched over when he couldn't bring himself to say anything more. He moved to lift himself up on his elbows, then his hands. He felt his palm shift and he gripped the sheets in a white knuckled fist.

Aziraphale smiled as he flicked his gaze up at the trembling mess in his mound of pillows. His blue dot eyes intent and open. "Yes, my love?"

"Kiss me."

"I thought you'd never ask, dear boy."

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry, good people of AO3.  
I have no excuse.
> 
> This was inspired by a tumblr gif of DT kissing someone's toes.... I'M SORRy
> 
> This was _supposed_ to be a later scene of a fic I planned to write about ballet danseur!Crowley and ballroom dancer&anatomist!Aziraphale... 
> 
> BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN NINE YEARS SO I'M REALLY FLYING BY THE SEAT OF MY PANTS
> 
> *inhale*  
But here ya go  
Again, all apologies to whomsoever requires them.


End file.
